A poem by D.H. Lawrence.

Intimates
by D.H. Lawrence

Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly.

I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
Please make all requests to headquarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
please approach the supreme authority direct!
So I handed her the mirror.

And she would have broken it over my head,
but she caught sight of her own reflection
and that held her spell-bound for two seconds
while I fled.

Quarrel
by E.W. Chandler

A hundred philosophers, theorists or oracles
Shall ne'er quell the hotheaded old quarrel
Of the husband and the wife.
Tempers simmer over some trivial detail,
Domestic hostilities lurk beneath the surface,
And tall, proud homes can be heatedly hewn apart.

And so I hope, my sweetheart,
That those sordid romantic misdeeds with your sister
Can be forgiven and forgotten
And I propose a temporary truce.
Drop the knife please honey.

An excerpt from John Donne's Meditation XVII.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Fine in theory, friend, but very cold comfort for a man whose withdrawal from society is nonetheless akin to a life on an isle far, far away - and for whom isolation's severe pain may meet a bitter end only after his death, even at his own hand. Remember, lonesomeness does in fact happen; we must be aware of that, and keep in mind T.S. Eliot's view: "Hell is oneself; hell is alone."

CONFOUND YOU, DECEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH, I APOLOGIZE
by Ogden Nash

December twenty-fourth is an exciting day because it is the day before Christmas; but December twenty-sixth is a dreary day because it is the day after,
And people don't even want to take their heads out from under the covers unless they hafter.
December twenty-fifth is an exciting day because it is what people refer to when Merry Christmas they wish you;
But December twenty-sixth is just the day you spend tripping over ribbons and wading through green and scarlet tissue.
It is a day of such anticlimax as to frustrate the most ambitious,
It is lined with gray satin like a medium-priced casket, its atmosphere is faintly morticious.
It is a day oppressive as asthma,
A day on which you want to call up the blood bank and ask them to return your plasma.
It is a day of headaches that set you sighing with nostalgia
For your old neuralgia.
Its hours are as dilatory
As a 10-cent depilatory.
Indeed it is a day subject to such obsecration and obloquy
That I am beginning to feel sorry for it, my knees are getting wobloquy as I strangle a sobloquy.
I am regretful that in discussing the reputation of December twenty-sixth I may have said anything to jeopardize it,
So by way of making amends I suggest that from now on we not necessarily lionize it, but couldn't we maybe just leopardize it?

EASTER
by Ned S. Hogan

My favorite day is Easter,
As there's a myriad of Easter eggs on which to feast yer.
At a bare minimum you cram in twenty-six thousand Easter eggs,
Jumping to approximately sixty-eight thousand if one is under 10 and is furnished with hollow legs.
It's real easy to relish Easter Sunday,
But disarray arrives by Monday.
For while on Sunday it's a great idea to eat chocolate to excess,
By mid-Monday everybody's got zits on faces and neckses.
Each grubby little pustule,
That you just have to sit by a mirror with both index fingers and try to bustule.
But there's worse, since while chocolate is perfect as a titbit,
Eating a hundredweight makes you a stupid nitbit.
Such is the sugary ubiquity,
That you're inclined to feel a bit sicquity and meet an end that is sticquity.
It feels like you've swallowed a heifer,
And it appears it might be in there foreifer.
Spreading gastric paroxysms make you want to take to your cramping gizzard with a nearby motorized kitchen appliance,
Then donate your body to science.
It's scarcely fair, dyspepsia due to chocolate,
When we expect it instead from warm cabbage and broccolate.
Weird that a thing wrapped in tinfoil
Should be so sinfoil.
It just isn't funny,
And we should say something on the matter to the Easter Bunny.
In my mind it's enough to make anybody switch to Judaism --
But that'd be foodaism.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Twelve in-laws meddling,
Eleven kids rampaging,
Ten ales a spilling,
Nine puddings charring,
Eight roars unending,
Seven siblings reveling,
Six pets a crapping,
Five tummy cramps,
Four irate words,
Three enemies,
Two allergies,
And then added a migraine for me.

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